


Freakin' poetic is what it is

by Vesta (Biggelois)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biggelois/pseuds/Vesta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are different ways of solving arguments and mending hurts. Dean and Sam have their own way of dealing and their own way of saying "I'm sorry".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freakin' poetic is what it is

 

Fucking is like the ocean. Like the tide pushing and pulling at the shore, claiming more and more with every move. Ebb and flow. Giving and taking. Or some poetic drivel. Fucking is nice, that is all you need to know. Dean likes it nice - and slow. Not necessarily soft - hard is often better. But slow. Feeling everything. Be respectful of what the other wants. It's powerful. So; slow. Mostly.

 

Fast and dirty is good too. Up against the wall, nails digging into his shoulders, his hands cupping, holding up, a tight ass, cock pushing panties to the side and sliding deep. Grunts and moans. The steady thump of a headboard hitting the wall, faster and faster.  So really, fucking is good anyway you can get it. Mostly. There are a few things Dean refuses to do, some roads that will stay untraveled, but not many.

 

Before everything, Sam had taken the slow and sweet. Let Dean pet him and caress him all he wanted. No rush, no hard hands or anything. Just them, whenever Dad looked away long enough. Sammy still soft, still little even though he had been as tall as Dean. That had never mattered. It had been freakin' poetic, what they had. What they still have in spite of all the things that happened on the way.

 

Even after Dad passed, sweet and slow had been on the menu. Spiced up from time to time, when Sam pinned Dean on the bed, or in the backseat, sucked him and fucked him like there was no tomorrow. It had been more important somehow, for Dean to make sure Sam knew how precious he was. Not that he ever said anything, he didn't need to. But back then there had been no tomorrow; Dean had seen the shadows in Sam's eyes go darker by the minute. Sweet and slow hadn't been enough anymore.

 

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

 

Dean had to admit that he had been terrified the first time he went to Sam's bed. He could have gotten it all wrong, misread the looks and the sighs, the lingering touches and arms and legs thrown over Dean as soon as Sam got close enough. He hadn't been wrong. Sam had rolled over on his back and spread his legs wide, all Dean's for the taking. It had been so easy to pull Sam under him and just take. It had been so right. Fumblings and ows and bruises, yes, but no hesitation. That was one thing Dad had taught them, don't linger, don't mess around -when you want something get it. They had both wanted, and they both took.

 

Sam had been so sweet, that first time. Eyes like saucers in the dark, long limbs still a little uncoordinated, tongue sliding careful and wet against Dean's. They had been done in under a minute.

 

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

 

Dean leans against the car. The alley is dark, but not too dark; he can still see exactly what's happening. Sam knows that Dean likes to watch. Sometimes he goes out off his way to make sure Dean gets what he wants. Like now. The girl is pretty as a doll; long black hair, legs all the way up to her neck and eyes like Bambi. Pretty. They never pick up guys, just girls. The guy thing, that's for them only.

 

Sam had her out behind the bar, down on all fours in minutes and Dean thinks how when it's him and Sam, his brother takes his time. Always. No matter if they fuck like animals, hard and fast and Dean's back ends up raw against the brick wall, Sam always takes his time when it's Dean.

 

With the girl, though, their clothes are pushed aside and up just enough to reach and foreplay was merely Sam pushing his dick into her mouth a couple of times and a quick rub between her legs. What's weird is that it's enough, that his brother's like that with all the girls he picks up. He treats them like nothing, like holes to squeeze his dick and not once have any of them complained. They just moan and go to their knees for him. And Dean watches, mesmerized, as Sam slams in and fucks them until they cry.

 

This one, she has hair down to her waist. She's crouching on all fours, Sam fucks her from behind so quietly and the only sounds are the girl making these high pitched whines and the squelching of Sam's cock inside her. She's so wet Dean can hear the slapping of skin on skin when Sam thrusts in. Sam has his hand twisted in her long hair, using it to pull her back onto his cock over and over, keeping her head tilted back, her panting mouth half-open.

 

Dean palms himself through his jeans, his hard dick jammed down the left leg. Sam is watching him through slitted eyes and Dean rubs himself again, showing off a little, showing Sam how hard he his. Not for the girl but for Sam, for how Sam looks when he's giving it to her like that, making her squeal.

 

Sometimes Dean joins in after a while, when Sam has got them all wild eyed and ready to do anything. Sometimes he just watches. He thinks about going over to them and slipping his dick in her mouth, kiss Sam over her prone body, while she's taking them both in. And it's like Sam can read his mind by the expression on his face. His little brother yanks the girl's hair hard, pulling her back onto his cock and says to Dean, "You want some?"

 

But Dean shakes his head, not her, not tonight. He pops the button in his jeans and pushes his hand inside, watches Sam's mouth twist in a smirk before he licks his lips in another blatant invitation. And yeah, Dean would much rather have Sam's mouth on him than a girl's, some random anonymous girl, who doesn't know the way Dean likes it.  He pulls himself off the car and closes in on his brother, catching and kissing Sam. The girl groans, trying to move, but Sam holds her still. They kiss for a minute, tongues tangling and sliding. Sam's breathing hard; Dean can tell he's pretty close already. It's time to finish it up.

 

He moves behind Sam, one hand in his brother's hair, the other on his broad shoulder. Sam shudders a little and his hips jerk. The girl, almost forgotten while they kissed, whines again.

 

"You think she can take it up the ass?" Dean leans down, ghosts his lips against Sam's neck. "I think she can. Show me on her, show me how you want me to take you when we get done here."

 

Sam shudders again, tilting his head back for another kiss. It gets to him, when Dean says dirty shit like that, makes Sam even hotter. It makes Dean hotter too, knowing he's the one who's really wiring Sam, not the hole he's fucking. Sam leans back against Dean, pulling the girl up by the hair, seating her in his lap. Dean has his hand down his jeans again when Sam rocking the girl up and down on his dick. Dean's so close to pulling his own cock out and having Sam suck him, but if he saves it for later, it'll be all the better. When Dean comes, he wants it to be just them.

 

Things have changed since Dean came back. Sam has. There are the little things that show. Sam has grown rough. Hard. It must have been there all the time, just that Dean hadn't seen it. Or Sam hadn't let it out, maybe not needed to let it out before. Not like he does now. And Dean knows he, himself,  must have changed too. But that is harder to pinpoint.

 

Dean, he needs it to be slow more often now. When they fuck, sometimes it's more of a fight than anything else. Sam pressing him down, holding his hands pinned and moving Dean around as he likes until Dean has had it and fights back. Giving as good as he gets. But most of the time, Sam takes it out on whatever girl they pick up. And they all seem to love it so no harm done.

 

Once in a while, when he thinks Dean is asleep, Sam touches him. Gentle touches, running his fingers through Dean's hair, caressing him like he doesn't do much when the light is on.  It's weird, but Dean gets the feeling that Sam is covering something up, protecting either himself or Dean from something. The ground they are standing on is getting unsteady. Or so it seems, until the sun comes up and Sam kisses him just like Dean likes it and lets him do the nice and slow again.

 

They are panting in tandem now, Sam and the girl. He has a hand between her legs, fingering her hard as she rides him. Dean steps back and watches again. Sam is gorgeous like this, strong and just this side too rough. The girl is wailing, sobbing, hitching her breath when Sam rams deep and then she's coming, bucking and twisting. Sam lets her finish before pushing her off. He's still hard, hasn't come yet, condom shining wetly in the street lights.

 

He looks at Dean, not sparing the girl a glance. Dean knows what his little brother wants, so he nods. "Do it, Sammy. Come on, I wanna see." Sam pulls the condom off and fists himself, eyes still on Dean. Sam's turn to show off now.

 

"All over her, Sammy. Make her know it's for me." Dean can't help the snark in his voice, can't help but want to put this nameless girl back in place, making her know she's nothing. It hits him then, that's what has changed. This possessiveness he didn't have before. It takes him over more and more lately, making him bare his teeth to scare off his brother's  anonymous conquests  if they get too close. Irrational. He likes watching Sam doing his thing, seeing his strength coiled up tight, churning under the surface, a powerhouse ready to explode. And yet he hates it. They have been apart too many times now, for too long. He hates it because it's nothing like what they have and that is, as a matter of fact, freakin' poetic in spite of their rough spots and sometimes hard words.

 

Dean's fingers itch when Sam begins to slide his hand up and down his own dick. He's groaning quietly, they are still not alone so Sam won't make much noise. But Dean knows the sounds, the hitch in Sam's breath when his fingers press just under the fat, leaking head. Sam has a hand on the girl's back, holding her still in spite of her trying to wriggle away. He'll do it, make her know who he's coming for and Dean's belly tightens at the sight. So goddamn hot, looking like that.

 

"Gonna…gonna come now." Sam groans between clenched teeth. "For you. No one else, you know that."

He jerks himself faster, aims. Dean feels the air swoosh out off him when Sam grunts that deep, growling grunt he gives when he's about to blow. And then he does, pumping himself hard, bending a little at the waist, hitting spot on with thick spurts. The girl makes a surprised noise but Sam just keeps going, milking himself the last bit before letting her go.

 

She's on her feet as soon as he lets her go, staring wide eyed at them. "That was so hot!" She's breathless and her cheeks are still flushed. She wobbles a little and Dean reaches for her, giving her a steadying hand. She grasps it, leaning towards him, almost rubbing up against him. "You wanna…?"

 

It's tempting, to push her down again and have her mouth on him, she's so eager for it, tip of her tongue peeking between her lips.  But Sam is still on his knees beside them, all flushed and sweaty and there is that licking Dean wants to do before the night is over and daylight and work hits them again. He shakes his head 'no'.  After all, he does hate her a little, not much but enough for not wanting her to touch him like that. It's one thing watching Sam, he does deserve having his moments and still, Dean is the one he goes home with, the one he really does it for.

 

Sam gets on his feet, tucks himself in. The girl, she stands there like she's waiting for something, maybe she thinks they will take her with them. But she doesn't look surprised when Sam, always the gentleman, leads her back to the bar, says goodbye with a brief kiss on her cheek. They never asked her name and soon she's gone back in, gone from them.

 

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

 

They don't talk much in the car, there is not much to say. They both know how the night will end. Dean's still hard, haven't wilted one bit and he is starting to ache a little. There's going to be one quick, fast round when they get back, Sam's mouth on him, fingers in Sam's hair, holding him still, fucking in deep and hard. Sam can take it, wants to take it even. It's like he has this need for Dean claiming territory again when they have done something like this. Just as Dean has. When he has shown off, he always goes to his knees for Sam. Sam, with is big gentle hands, is never gentle then. He does what Dean will do, takes. Sometimes, when they have shared, they fuck each other in front of the girl, letting her watch. Dirty and not so nice, perhaps, but damn it's hot.

 

Dean has a 'thing' for Sam's mouth. Blowjobs in general are good, but with Sam there is something more. Might be the way Sam gives it up, like he needs it, needs to be had like that by Dean. The way he opens up, lets Dean do whatever he wants. Which, mostly, is slow and nice. Even when he's sliding his dick down Sam's throat, feeling him gag a little, sees the tears begin to seep from the corners of his eyes, Dean takes it slow, savours it. There is so little time he can't let anything go to waste.

 

But tonight, there will be no slow and nice. Not after the show Dean has just witnessed. Not after Sam's words, when he was still under the siren's spell, still stinging like a scrubbed knee. No amount of 'sorry' and 'I didn't mean it' can erase the words they spit at each other. What they did to each other then. What they are doing now is probably not enough either, but it's a way towards better.

 

They are barely inside, door closed, before Dean grabs Sam by the collar and pulls him close. He knows that Sam is hard again, made sure of that in the car. Rubbing just so, hearing Sam whine a little at the stimulation on his still sensitive dick. Doesn't take much though, to get him up and going again. Sam's quick like that, they both are.

 

The kiss is hard, grinding teeth against teeth and just what they both need. Dean thinks he can taste the girl on Sam, but that is not possible, he hadn't even kissed her. But Dean still makes sure to wipe every last trace of her from Sam's mouth. And then Sam's on his knees for him, just like he wanted. Sam's mouth is slick and wet, better than any pussy. Opens for him without hesitation. There's this look in Sam's eyes, hurt and angry. They are not done with what happened before. He doesn't hesitate before swallowing Dean down, a long slipslide of wet mouth and Dean can barely hold it together. He has the feeling that Sam is trying to take over, set the pace, but that won't happen tonight. Tonight is for teaching Sam how not weak Dean is and if that'll hurt a little, so be it. Sam can handle that.

 

Dean comes fast, hands gripping Sam's head, fingers digging in, holding him still while Dean twitches and pumps down his throat. Sam has his eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners, but he does nothing to stop Dean, to get away. He never does, not anymore.

 

Dean is still half hard when he lets go of Sam, that was just round one. Round two will take longer. Sam's still hard too, his dick clearly lined against his thigh. He's waiting. For Dean to tell him it's alright again, or tell him they aren't done yet. The hurt look in his eyes is still there, still angry, but it's mixed with want. They need this, the both of them.  The give and take, as it should be, erase the hard words, the ' you're weak' and the 'I can't trust you'.

 

It is freakin' poetic how they can communicate without words, with just looks. They undress and Sam crawls onto the bed, hands and knees, offering. Dean knows that this is exactly that, a peace offering. And who is he to refuse such a gracious offer? He leans in and puts a hand on Sam's back.

 

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

 

When Sam is spread out like this, on his hands and knees with his back arched, he still looks like he did all those years ago when it all started. There is so much more back these days for Dean's hands to touch, but that doesn't matter, neither how much muscle he has put on. Dean still remembers their first 'first' time. Sam had been on all fours then too, body trembling under Dean's hands. They had been using fingers on each other for a while and Sam seemed to love it. Squirming and moaning, coming so hard every time. The first time Dean had slipped two fingers in, Sam had yelled when he came.  Dean had tried to rein himself in, not going all the way, trying to not take that final step on the road to hell, but damn if he could resist. When Sam clenched around his fingers, hips rolling, what little resolve he had left went flying through the window. He had to have.

 

Sam had been down on his elbows, almost-whispered mewls into the pillow, legs spread so wide, hole clenching around Dean's fingers. After that there was no turning back at all.

 

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

 

And now, when Sam is down on his knees and elbows again, the soft mewls he used to make when Dean pushed in have changed to groans, but they still sound just as sweet. Sweeter even, because Dean knows, really knows, that Sam doesn't make those sounds for anybody else.

 

He makes that noise when Dean pushes two slick fingers in, groans and shoves back. He's more than ready, just as Dean is, they both have been since they headed out earlier. The girl was only a part of the foreplay, only Sam trying to show he's sorry. There is beauty in the madness, in this 'thing' they have and share.

 

Dean twists his fingers, hears Sam grunt again, his head is hanging down, hair in his eyes. With his fingers still inside, Dean moves closer, rubs himself on Sam's thighs, smears wet from his dick over Sam's ass, between the cheeks. He likes to do that, Sam said once that Dean could just as well piss on him, what with the messing with precome and spunk all over him. Dean actually thought about doing just that, but he's not quite that desperate to mark Sam. Even so, it's and idea that has its appeals.

 

Sam on hands and knees or Sam on his back -that is the question. It's solved easily though, when his brother whines low in his throat and pushes back hard again. Dean pulls his fingers out, grabs Sam by the neck to keep him still. He knows Sam expects a hard, fast shove in. Instead he goes slowly as he can, makes sure Sam feels every inch of him sliding in. Stuffing him so full of Dean that his hips ache. Sam spreads his legs, arches his back, head up, making little pained noises with every slow movement inside him.  You don't have to be brutal to torture someone.

 

When he's all the way in, Dean holds still, feels Sam try to move, pushing at the hand holding him down. Dean presses a little harder and Sam stills. He can feel Sam's pulse jack-rabbitting under his fingertips, he knows how little it takes to shut it off, make it stop. Sam heaves a deep breathe and relaxes, finally.

 

Dean pulls back just as slowly as he thrust in. He can feel his own orgasm lurking like a wild thing deep down, waiting for the right moment to explode. But he's going to draw this out as long as he can. Slow, slow push back in and the noises Sam is making are bordering on hurt now. Almost as painful to wait for as it is to get it sometimes. He's waiting for Dean to snap, but Dean's not going to tonight.

 

Instead he rolls his hips, nudges at that spot inside Sam which makes him shudder and groan. He has finally gotten it, it seems. It's one of those nights, no reach arounds, no hands, just Dean and his dick, slowly pulling Sam apart at the seams. It's hard to make Sam come like this, untouched, but when Dean succeeds, it lasts longer, almost painful in its intensity.

 

There is no exact moment when it changes, from on the verge of punishment to reconnection. Sam's big hand covers Dean's on his neck. He's down on his shoulders now, moaning in a steady stream of halfbitten words. Dean's close, Sam is so tight and hot around him, squeezing him, and it would be so easy to just let go. But he holds it back, slides in, slow as molasses, just as sweet, feels Sam clench up around him. Feels the muscles in his back tense once more, legs beginning to shake and the wild thing deep down in Dean roars. It wants loose, wants out. He has sped up his moves, goes harder, deeper, his hips meet Sam's upturned ass with a smack every push in. Almost enough to drown out the moans, the noises Sam still makes between the grunts.

 

And then he can't hold it anymore, the wild thing rips free, makes his head spin, makes him howl. Sam shakes and twists under him, squeezing him tight, pulsing into the sheets.

 

They manage to not knock each other out when they disentangle. They lie side by side, only fingers touching, too over heated for more contact than that. It's good, though; Dean's chest feels lighter, and it's easier to breathe now. He turns his head, Sam has his eyes closed, resting. There are red scratches on his neck, Dean must have clamped down harder than he had intended. Is there forgiveness for the accidental injuries that are borne out of unchecked passion? He can't know for sure – not until Sam opens his eyes and looks at him. He's not so certain he wants that yet, still a little worried about what he'll see in Sam's eyes. Maybe this wasn't enough.

 

Sam's breath has evened out, he's asleep. Dean looks at him, touches him as gently as Sam touches Dean when he thinks Dean's asleep. It has to be enough. He doesn't know what to do if it's not. There are only so many ways you can say 'I'm sorry' and if they don't suffice, he's lost. He has accepted Sam's apology, offered his own. It has to be enough.

 

Sam sighs in his sleep, turns his head into Dean's touch. They are going to be a sticky, crusty mess in the morning but Dean can't be bothered to get up and get a washcloth. He'd rather be disgusting later than leave Sam now, when he's so obviously wants Dean's touch. That there should be golden blackmail material, used when he wants to rile Sam up. But he's not going to misuse the moment like that. Because honestly, they have been through so many rough patches in their days, so many close calls, and that they are still together, in one piece, is a miracle. It's freakin' poetic, that is what it is.

 


End file.
